and that is beginning
and that is ending
and that is continuity
and that is blessing
and that is leaving
and that is receiving
and that is you
and that is me
and that is we
poem- image June 23, 2015
Snapshot
image of this place
image of these faces
image of our laughter
after time passes
memories encased in this
snapshot
poem- in a minute June 22, 2015
In a minute
we can rage
strife chagrin
strife mend
In a minute
all can change
life begin
life end.
In a minute
In a second
Breath
Gone.
,
,
RIP Mickey. Can’t believe it.
(We lost one of our former grads today. 😥 )
poem- adaption June 20, 2015
Water
flows downhill
finds its level
makes its way
adapts.
Water
boils over
floods plains
rises to the sky
adapts.
Water
nurtures
pours
roars
adapts.
Water
drips
drops
adapts.
I
am
water.
poem- endings June 19, 2015
Tonight,
we’ll laugh until tears streak our cheeks
and remember all those moments
that made this a special place.
But beneath the laughter
will be the melancholy knowing
that with these leavings
we are left to try to rebuild something new.
I suppose we’ll be okay,
but I can’t help but wish you’d stay.
.
.
.
(End of the school year. Staff leaves. New staff arrives. Some years it’s just so fabulously synergistic that it is particularly depressing to see the end).
poem- grief June 11, 2015
You’re right there
but you’re gone.
Imagining the future without you
takes magic out of the world
silences our laughter
slices out our hearts.
You’re right here,
but you’re gone.
Lost to us
at great cost to us
There isn’t enough chocolate* in the world
to assuage this agony, unrelenting.
You’re right here,
but our story is ending.
.
.
.
My colleagues and I are grieving the loss of a great leader. We will go on with the new again, of course. But sometimes, before you pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and pull it together, you need to wallow for a while in the emotions you’re feeling. Loss is painful. Change is scary. We’ll get through it, but accepting the grief is healthy, too.
*some people may wish to substitute a beverage, shoes, or other favoured ‘pick me up.’
poem- change June 9, 2015
We are flexible and contented
We dance in the halls and laugh in the staff room
We inspire and challenge, stretch and strive.
We welcome opportunity to grow and improve
with new members to our team.
But.
leadership must embrace our joy. We have a culture of YES.
We ask “how can we…?” Not “Can we?”
Today, we’re afraid.
.
But
we wonder how can we
make this change create even greater opportunities for our kids.
poem- valley June 8, 2015
We’re nestled here between the hills
protected from the harsh winds
warm and basking by the lake.
But you are bored,
you’re ready to escape,
to see what lies beyond the valley
and so we wave farewell
knowing after adventure,
home calls the blood.
poem-iris memories May 28, 2015
The bouquet of irises
is dessicated;
brown paper shells devoid of scent,
death displayed in a vase.
The purple blooms,
dripped inky streaks down the walls
and puddles onto the floor.
The stains leave a memory of floral glory
for tomorrow.
poem-then love April 29, 2015
I told you
I’d love you forever
You told me you loved me
and we’d be friends forever.
I meant every deluded nuance.
You figured optimism works out
but you also said you couldn’t answer
to what would happen if I snuck into your room
and you woke to my face hovering above you.
That intriguing notion made me giggle at the joke.
But you kept your door locked, just in case.
Did you hear the door knob rattle?
Then the plane took off,
without me hiding in your luggage
as you’d suggested I could.
Our next phone call clarified
the kindness of lies.
and the length reality stretches
to cling to an illusion.
I’ve been grateful for
the elasticity of spurious delusion
every day of my life.
I craft my reality in my imagination:
You are whoever I make you to be.
Do I cover you with armour?
Compel piano mastery?
Some loves last through time:
mythical love need not be mocked.
What you hear, is never what truly was.
It’s what was crafted to tell the tale that needed to be told.
You are a character in the love story,
and I can always kill you off in
literary impunity.
.
Shape poem of a chess piece. Clear? Metaphor of the game. Get it?
Shawn L. Bird 